Deep within a threadbare tweed
Nestled sweetly where a heart once beat
Lay a splintered wallet.
Betwixt it’s skin lay the man’s treasure:
What his chest sang for.
She smiles soft
Glancing quiet, not shy
From within four well loved corners
Disintegrating from touch,
Or perhaps playfully turning away
Blushing from smiling gaze.
Lady leans in wait,
I like to think he filled his days
Labouring, yet longing, to reconvene
With the hidden wealth of his wallet.
I don’t know who they are
Or who they were
Or where their story led
But what I know is that the story
Was one of love.
A love that waited
Quietly in a breast pocket.
Illustration Nick Victor